


toilet girl

by emullz



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, College AU, F/M, Modern AU, also some throw up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:18:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3268004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emullz/pseuds/emullz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>both bellamy and clarke end up unwillingly at a party, unwillingly in the bathroom, and unwillingly holding back hair from- well, puke. a "hey, my friend threw up in the bathroom right before yours did and you're really cute" college au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jaw Dropping

Sometimes, Clarke really regretted living with Raven Reyes. It had all been easier, when they’d lived in rooms with different locks, to say that she had a ton of work, or other plans, or even that she wasn’t home and couldn’t answer her texts because she was off wildly partying already. But now, Raven knew what she was actually doing. Raven knew her tendencies to bake brownies, turn on the nature channel, and practice her tree illustrations. 

And, of course, when she wasn’t trying to sneak pot into the brownies, was was trying to guilt Clarke into going to loud, sweaty straight boy parties in frat houses with weird smelling sofas and all the lights turned off. Because Raven’s pouty face was so good, it usually worked. 

Sometimes, Clarke really regretted living with Raven Reyes. Especially when she was holding her hair back as said roommate puked into a very cramped frat house toilet. Even as a med student, Clarke mused, there were some bodily fluids you just never got used to.

~

Sometimes, Bellamy wished his sister’s personality was a little less jaw dropping. Sure, she was an incredible human being and he loved her more than anything else in his world, but he’d prefer it if he were drinking beer and playing Mario Kart with Miller instead of taking his sister out and introducing her to the so called ‘party scene.’ It wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to do, but he knew Octavia, and he knew that she’d really take a liking to the drinks that were shoved into her hand by every guy in the place with eyes, and he wanted to make sure she didn’t end up in the hospital after her first ever college party. He thought that could wait until her second one. 

He could see her now, doing shots with some douche with a popped collar, looking like she was having the time of her life. And then she was on the table, and the the floor, and then, well-

Sometimes, Bellamy wished his sister’s personality was a little less jaw dropping. Especially when he had her hair in his hands and she was the one with the dropped jaw, vomiting in the toilet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i wrote this. i have no idea if this is accurate. my experience is probably at level 0 in this respect. always let me know if i get details of party/college/teenage life wrong, considering i'm woefully ignorant of all these things, seeing as i am a highschooler who writes about parties instead of living them.
> 
> i hope you like it.


	2. Definitely Not a Serial Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clarke and mysterious guy with sister sit on a couch and talk for a while. condensation ensues.

Clarke didn’t know how Raven managed to get off the floor after puking out the entire contents of her stomach with only spearmint gum and a bottle of water as recuperation, but she managed indeed, leaving Clarke to dodge the two people running into the bathroom and collapse on the couch, wishing she could turn on the nature channel and turn off the increasingly bad party mashups.

She had to be satisfied with tracing trees out of the rings of water left by the beer condensation on the coasterless table.

“You’re the girl from the bathroom,” a voice said a few minutes later, just loud enough to be heard over the music. Clarke looked up, startled at the sudden hand on her shoulder. “I’m the guy with the overly intoxicated sister.”

“Oh, the one who threw up three rounds of jello shots right after Raven finished throwing up hers.” She smiled at the stranger and he sat down, causing her couch cushion to tilt dramatically to the side. His hand was sliding down her arm and then onto his red cup. Clarke watched him take a sip and wondered why she was being so unusually cavalier. She thought maybe it was the power of the Frat party going to her head. If she could hold back someone’s hair while they violently puked into the most disgusting toilet known to man, than she could talk to the cute guy sitting next to her, goddamnit.

“Who were you in that charming restroom for?” he asked. Clarke wished the Frat house had lamps or something, so she could see more than the curve of his smile and the curly shadow of his hair.

“My roommate,” Clarke replied. “She always manages to guilt me into coming to these, if only to have someone who can find her passed out at the end of the night.”

“I know the feeling,” he said, leaning back casually against the couch. Clarke caught a glimpse of a dark eye and a freckled cheek. “My freshman year I lived with a real jackass who would drag me to these, get blackout drunk, and then get mad at me for dragging his ass home before he ‘got some.’”

“Raven’s only a jackass sometimes,” Clarke said, letting her fingers wander back to the rings of water on the table. “And she only comes to these because she likes to shut off her brain. Engineering, you know.”

He whistled. Clarke knew he was impressed. People always were impressed by Raven. It made her proud and jealous at the same time. “How about you, gallant roommate supervising toilet girl?” Clarke caught the glint of his smile and she ducked her head to look back at her trees. “You an art student?”

“No, actually,” Clarke replied, blushing. “Pre med.”

“I thought doctor’s hands were supposed to be clean.”

Clarke glanced at her ink-stained fingertips and looked back up at him. She couldn’t think of an explanation other than the fact that she’d been drawing the nature channel before she was dragged to this vibrating bass hellhole. “Drawing’s more of a… hobby.”

“With hands like that?” he looked up at the girl who was singing at the top of her lungs by the bar and then back at Clarke.

“Being a doctor can be art. A scalpel is a lot like a pen, you know,” Clarke countered absentmindedly. “Oh, wow. File that under things I’ve said that give people doubts about whether I am definitely not a serial killer.”

He laughed, a sound deep in his throat. It was the kind of laugh that made Clarke want to drop out of med school to become a standup comedian.

“Do you carve trees into people during open heart surgery?” She could still hear the laugh in the tones of his voice.

“I’ll let you know when they let me past the glass barrier,” Clarke said ruefully. “For now, surgery is kind of a look-don’t-touch sort of thing. You know, the exact opposite of guys at a frat party.” Clarke was rewarded with another laugh.

And then suddenly jello shot sister was in front of them, grabbing his hand and his beer and yanking him up off the couch to where Raven usually was during these things- the center of attention.

The apologetic look her sent her over his shoulder was the first clear glimpse of his face she’d gotten all night. Even if he hand’t been incredible charming and funny, she thought as he turned away, those freckles would’ve won her over in a heartbeat.

So, she let her drink sweat a little longer on the table, and then she put the condensation to good use.

When she got home, she charged her phone.

\- -

All Bellamy could think when Octavia dragged him away was that a bathroom was not the place he thought he’d meet a girl like that. 

 

He was no stranger to witty flirting with tipsy girls at bars. In fact, he had a knack for getting one or two of them to come home with him. But this girl… well, he’d come looking out for Octavia and now he wished he’d left his little sister at home. 

 

The next time he looked over to the couch, it was empty. Bellamy took the chance to sit down his worn out sister on the now vacant cushion where she had been. And that was when he saw it. 10 digits glistening faintly on the tabletop, ivy curling around them gracefully. 

 

He looked over at Octavia’s face next to him on the couch and wondered why he hadn’t started coming to frat parties sooner. Then, he remembered why he’d been calling her “toilet girl” in his head. 

 

He put the number in his phone and resisted the urge to text her right then and there. Instead, he got Octavia to her dorm, hailed a cab, and texted Miller to make sure there would still be two slices of pizza left for him when he got home. 

 

There was once, but that was okay by Bellamy. He had a feeling that toilet girl was worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i didn't proofread this at all, i've never been to a frat party, and i hope you don't hate this. it's late and i'm going to bed anyways.


	3. My Porcelain Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bellamy puts the phone number to good use. octavia is, as per usual, a smartass.

Clarke got a text the next morning as she was getting ready for her early class. And, by getting ready, she meant attempting to wake up using immeasurable cups of earl grey tea and the Beatles White Album on full volume.

It had almost worked when Obla-di Obla-da was interrupted by the familiar whistle of her text tone.

_I can’t keep calling you toilet girl in my head,_ it read. Clarke smiled in spite of herself. _And why is that, vomit boy?_ She responded. Raven would say it was too quickly, but she was also going to be sporting a massive hangover all day. Clarke thought maybe she didn’t have the best judgement.

She watched the typing bubble pop up at the bottom of her screen and sipped her tea as she waited for a response. Five minutes later, her phone buzzed again.

_I couldn’t think of a witty response. Sorry to keep you waiting, toilet girl._

_You should know I don’t like waiting_ , Clarke typed back quickly.

_Patience is a virtue, princess._

_What happened to toilet girl?_ she asked, frowning at the nickname. _Now I feel bad calling you vomit guy._

_You could always call me Bellamy._ Clarke tried the name out once on her lips. She liked the way it sounded. _But I do think vomit guy has a certain ring to it._

_Vomit guy it is,_ she responded. There was a pounding on Clarke’s door, and at its insistence she threw her mug in the sink, grabbed her coat, and rushed to open the door.

“Shit, Wells, I’m ten minutes late and you-“ She was silenced by a double espresso in her hand and Wells pulling the door shut behind her.

“You don’t just show up late to one of Nyko’s lectures.” Wells started down the stairs without looking back.

Clarke’s phone buzzed. _Good. I’d hate to be the only one using a nickname here, Princess._

She sipped her coffee and suppressed a smile. _I’ll have you know, my porcelain throne is quite comfortable_ , she typed back.

“Clarke!” Wells called from halfway down the stairwell. “Professor Nyko, lateness, not an option!”

Clarke flew down the staircase and into Wells’ beat up excuse for a car. Her phone buzzed, but at Wells’ raised eyebrows, she left it tucked under her thigh, a rectangle of possibility. When they pulled up at the lecture hall five minutes later, she picked it up quickly before walking into the doors, squinting to read the words in the sun. _Your wit knows no bounds_ , it read.

_It does, actually. It’s thwarted by my professor’s insane phone policy. I have to go listen to him talk about blood and guts now._

_Sounds exhilarating._

_Shh!_

\- -

Bellamy watched his screen light up with a smile as he tossed last night’s beer bottles into the recycling, hoping the clamor of bottles would wake up the apartment. As if on cue, Octavia breezed past him wearing last night’s shirt covered by his favorite jacket. She looked more awake than she did, and he’d been the designated driver last night.

He had to hand it to her, she took hangovers like a champ. Always had. It’s the reason why she’d gotten away with so much during high school. Well, that and the fact that Bellamy was having a lot of late nights himself, half due to alcohol consumption and half due to late shifts.

“You gonna get your own clothes any time soon?” Bellamy asked while quickly tapping out a reply. He leaned back against the counter to put himself in the way of Octavia and her breakfast. “What happened to your abundance of space in my closet?”

“C’mon, Bell, you know the only stuff I keep here is T-Shirts and jeans, and I have a very important, um, class to get to today, so…” Octavia smoothed her jacket anxiously and peered around him at the fruit bowl. The only thing not covered in flies were the bananas.

“So you have a date,” Bellamy said, fighting down a smile. “I hope he’s cute.”

“Who are you texting?” Octavia asked abruptly as Bellamy’s phone buzzed on the counter. He snatched it before she could look too closely, slipping it into his back pocket. Octavia reached for the fruit, wielding it like a prize.

“Don’t change the subject, O. Your date, his credibility, his ability to bring you home before ten-?”

“Really, who is it? You have no friends, the only people who text you are Miller and I- and no way am I home by ten, you’re crazy.” Octavia peeled her banana with one eyebrow raised, something Bellamy really wished she hadn’t picked up from him. “So who’s the girl? I hope she’s cute.”

“I hope you choke on your breakfast,” Bellamy muttered, pulling his phone sheepishly out of his pocket and checking the text, failing dismally in his attempts to keep a straight face.

“Toilet Girl?” Octavia burst out incredulously from across the table. “This isn’t some sort of weird kink you have, is it?”

“I’m not even going to acknowledge the fact that you know what a kink is.” Bellamy shuddered inwardly. “And I never should’ve taught you to read upside down.”

Octavia’s phone beeped shrilly. “And, I’m about to be late for my very important class. Remember, I’m staying here tonight because Monroe’s girlfriend is flying in from Orlando. Don’t wait up.” Octavia pulled on shoes and slung her bag onto her back, pausing at the doorway to call over her shoulder, “have fun sexting, you pervert! Heaven knows you need new friends.”

Bellamy watched a little wistfully as his sister strode out into the hallway, all eyeliner and crop top and confidence, and not all his anymore. He’d always brought her up to be independent, but he’d never really considered the consequences. You know, the fact that she was a real pain in the ass and mostly obnoxious, and the kicker, that she was right, this time. He did need more friends, and an excuse to not be waiting up all night for her to get home.

Bellamy shook his head and reached for his phone.

_When you’re done learning how to save lives, do you want to go grab a coffee or something?_

The text back came not even a minute later.

_So long as you don’t make me eat. Hemorrhoids don’t really help out my appetite._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i hope you don't hate this chapter. i enjoyed writing it. i really do love octavia and bellamy's relationship, and also wells. i love wells. 
> 
> please give me any feedback you have, because i am always looking for ways to not have to fix things myself.


	4. A Mean Taco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the end of the story (it culminates in tacos and love, so basically everybody's dream romance). also, the part where bellamy learns clarke's name

She ordered a large coffee with just milk because she didn’t see why she should pay extra money for milk with extra air, and because sugar was worse for your teeth than coffee. He showed up a couple minutes later, shaking March’s last vestiges of snow off of his boots and glancing around quickly for her. 

 

It made Clarke kind of happy that she was responsible for his smile. That didn’t happen for her very often, because Wells was serious and her mother was working and Raven didn’t smile, she smirked. “Hey, Vomit Guy!” she said cheerfully as he hung his coat up on the back of his chair. She couldn’t keep the smile from creeping onto her face. 

 

She had a funny feeling she was responsible for his, too. 

 

“So should I keep calling you Toilet Girl, or are you going to even the playing field and tell me your name?” Bellamy sat down heavily, leaning his elbows on the table. 

 

“Clarke Griffin," Clarke announced with a certain amount of grandeur that almost made Bellamy laugh out loud. 

 

“Nice to meet you, Princess.” Bellamy reached his hand across the table. Clarke denied his invitation. 

 

“You spend all this time asking for my name and you aren’t even going to use it?” she asked incredulously. “And ‘Princess?’ Really?” 

 

“Would you prefer Your Majesty? My Liege?” Clarke groaned, sipping her coffee and then offering the handle of her mug to Bellamy, who still hadn’t ordered anything. “No thank you, Madam President.” 

 

“That nickname I like,” Clarke said, her posture straightening ever so slightly. “If I’m the president, it means I can hand out executive orders, right?” She continued happily after Bellamy’s nod. “Then I hereby pass into law that you shall not call me any nicknames I do not approve of beforehand.” 

 

“But there’s the paradox,” Bellamy said. Clarke rolled her eyes. “You can’t be the president unless you agree to my nicknames, so your executive order won’t work. And since it doesn’t work-“

 

“Okay, Vomit Boy, if that’s how you want to play it-“

 

“That’s exactly how I want to play it.” 

 

Bellamy and Clarke stared each other down, each with bemused expressions on their faces, neither wanting to be the first to look away. 

 

“You didn’t even order any coffee,” Clarke said, finally, looking away from his gaze and down to his elbows still resting on the table. 

 

“It’s okay, I can just drink yours.”

 

“Such a gentleman,” Clarke quipped. “So, now that you know my name, how are you going to exploit the information?” 

 

“I’m going to do a lot of googling, maybe some old fashioned book research-“ 

 

“Or you could ask me out again after my biology class and I could tell you all of that in person. Google can’t do the voices in all of my funny stories.” Clarke smiled, a little nervously, as Bellamy took another long sip of her coffee. 

 

“How soon is that biology class?” 

 

“Half an hour.” 

 

“Why don’t we get to know each other now?” 

 

Clarke sighed, then checked the time on her phone. “Because accepting your coffee offer was an impulse decision and I haven’t started studying for the test that’s today during class.” 

 

“You free tonight?” Bellamy slid the mug back across the table. “I make a mean taco and I have a feeling you eat an overabundance of takeout.” 

 

“That sounds awesome,” Clarke said, beaming. “Text me the address, Vomit Guy, and I’ll be there.” 

 

“See, I knew it was smart to not order a coffee.” Bellamy pulled out a book that looked like it hadn’t been checked out of the library since the 80s and settled into his seat. “You’ll be too busy studying to notice when I steal it.” 

 

Clarke scowled and got to work, paying more attention on guarding her cup than the Krebs Cycle. She let him walk her to campus and smiled when his text came in to her phone three seconds later. 

 

_535 Ark Street, apartment 13G. 7:30 sound good?_

 

_Perfect._

 

_Good luck on your test._

 

_Not that I need it, but thanks._

 

_Modest._

 

_You know me._

 

_I don’t, really. That’s what the tacos are for._

 

\- -

 

Bellamy really did make great tacos, and Clarke really did tell great stories (voices and all). He had ice cream in his freezer and everything. And, when they were settled into the couch watching Friends reruns and he finally kissed her, she could’ve sworn he tasted like her coffee. And he could’ve sworn she was the best thing to happen for him in a long time, even if he constantly had her doodles running up his arms like temporary tattoos and she could never put her hair up because he loved to run his hands through it so much. 

 

They never went to any frat parties, after that. They’d both found what they were looking for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u liked it. bellarke5ever. 
> 
> i spend all my time on tumblr (http://b3ll4rke.tumblr.com). come find me.

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this. i have no idea if this is accurate. my experience is probably at level 0 in this respect. always let me know if i get details of party/college/teenage life wrong, considering i'm woefully ignorant of all these things, seeing as i am a highschooler who writes about parties instead of living them.
> 
> i hope you like it.


End file.
